


Forget Met Not

by LadyTheWarrior



Series: Jaskier|Dandelion's Adventures [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: A lot of angst because I'm depressed, Angst, Brave!Jaskier, Gen, I love hurting the characters I love, I may need one, Inspired by The Witcher, Jaskier is a brave boi, Jaskier is a loyal friend, Jaskier's friends, Loyality, Mentioned Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Minor Character Death, Monsters, Nilfgaardians - Freeform, No Beta, Some of the characters are from the book some from the video game, War, Whump!Jaskier, probably leshies, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:54:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23040541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyTheWarrior/pseuds/LadyTheWarrior
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier got separated on the mountain after the dragon hunt went wrong. Each going their own paths, seeking their own adventures until fate brings them back together again.OrWe all know Geralt meets with Ciri and takes her to Kaer Mohen to train her but what is Jaskier up to in the meantime.
Relationships: Essi Daven & Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Gaunter O'Dimm
Series: Jaskier|Dandelion's Adventures [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1666015
Comments: 13
Kudos: 75





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, it has been quite a while.  
> In my defense, I've been reading a lot in these months that apparently I was gone. I couldn't write for the life of me. I still can't. I don't know why. My mind doesn't seem to cooperate with my fingers. I can't get the words out. I have all these marvelous ideas just hanging there. 
> 
> But then I've been reading the Witcher as well, and I am in love with Geralt and his annoying friend/bard Dandelion or as the Witcher Tv Show would like to call him, Jaskier. ( apparently, that's his polish name oh wonders!) 
> 
> Anyway, the show is just.... meh... not bad I guess, Henry Cavil is really good as Geralt and others like Yennifer and Ciri actors just grow on you in time. Joey Batey as Jaskier is doing a marvelous job, even though I find his character ( only the writing of it not really the performance) a little bit dumbed down. But who am I kidding everything is a little dumbed down on that show so... yeah... I still like the whole thing though. I am just that obsessive fangirl. 
> 
> So I listened to the Amazing Devil band and I find this guy's voice really really amazing and I can't get it out of my head and I wrote this. And I may or may not continue this, depending on my mood and your response. ( we're currently in a quarantine in my country because the damn Corona Virus and I have nothing else to do, except you know doing my university assignment and work... which I am not doing at all... anyway... ) what am saying. 
> 
> On with the story.  
> Hope you like it 
> 
> (Also sorry in advance for the weird expressions, my native language isn't English)

_Sodden had fallen._

That much he knew, Nilfgaardians attacked and destroy like a deadly flood, condemning everyone and everything on their way to destruction and death. Ominous gray clouds covered the evening sky, the piercing sound of screams and shouts mixed with the neighing of the horses as people, innocent people, injured soldiers, men, women, children, some riding, some on foot, forced themselves out of their homes to the coast, the Yaruga river a destination, the barrier-to-be between them and the Nilfgaardians as they hacked and slashed without mercy.

On a cart, Jaskier sat clutching his lute and staring, panicking, his face white as a paper sheet. Yarpen Zigrin had warned them about the new lords attacking the northern lands. Jaskier had also heard from the innkeepers that it was bad, only that he didn't know that it was this bad. For all he was aware of from the locals and folks he was currently fleeing with, they had already taken over Cintra, murdering Queen Calanthe in cold blood. Doing horrible things with her dead body.

He was never a man for these sorts of situations. Blood alone terrified him to death, and even though years of traveling with Geralt must have at least toughened him up a little bit, as his father so much liked to put, his soft and delicate nature hasn’t been altered, not even a little bit. The field of corpses, surrounding him was definitely not a side he wanted to look at for long. He felt sick to the stomach and although he had been either on a horse or in a cart for most of the journey, his feet felt weak and shaky, he had to keep the neck of his precious lute in his sweaty hands to keep them from trembling. Even Jaskier knew this was not just any war.

“The Nilfargaardians left nothing behind but scorched earth and death!” a peasant yelled in his ear, making him look at him in fright. The old man whose face and clothes were covered in dirt, dust and something brownish- hopefully not blood- spat, “They take no hostages, no one from Cintra survived. “

“No one?” He couldn’t help but to exclaim. The other peasants on the carts turned to look at him for the first time. “ What about princess Cirilla then? she must have survived, anyone from the castle at all?”

“None of those who defended the keep survived son.”

 _No._ He could not believe it. _What will happen to Geralt then?_ He must have had come back to Cintra, to look for Ciri. The Child Surprise. Even though he did not want to think about the unfair bastard after the incident on the mountain, he couldn’t keep his breathing even, thinking about what might happen to him now that all hope has lost. _Does he know about this?_ He looked over his shoulder.

It was a graveyard. Dead bodies of men and horses everywhere, blood flowing on the green of grass and gray of the stones, flames soaring to the glooming sky.

“Nowhere to return now.”

* * *

They camped near the river, mothers washing their children, bandaging the wounded. Those who had fled a long way, rest by the river. They said a ferry would soon cross them by the Yaruga River, they would be safe then. It was then when it truly dawned on him the gravity of the situation, looking at the mothers and wives, fathers and husbands who wept, some in silent, some agonizingly loud, screaming their loved ones names in the dark of night, begging for the mercy of the gods.

“War does not determine who is right, just who is left.” Jaskier muttered, unconsciously strumming the strings of his lute, unable to peel his eyes off the disastrous reality, unfolding itself. Not that he was inexperienced to the real-life at all, at least not after more than a decade if not more traveling with the Witcher, but this war was certainly a first, or at least the first time he was in the center of it all.

_I can hear the cannons calling_

_As though across a dream_

_And I can smell the smoke of hell_

_In every stitch and seam_

_And like flowers, the bodies tumble_

_Around this muddied lot_

_I cannot hear them scream_

_‘Forget me not.’_

Jaskier stopped. For the first time unaware of the audience gathering around him and the small campfire near the tents. He looked at their faces, one by one, if it was an ordinary situation, he would have felt proud as a peacock, holding his head high, ready to show off what he was capable of and who he was but these people now, being forced to abandon their lands and homes, just like once elves had to as Filavandrel had said. He couldn’t truly capture the elven king’s word then but now, he understood. Jaskier understood and as much of a cynical bastard as he considered himself to be sometimes, he felt this sadness and sorrow clutching at his chest, looking at these war-torn lots.

He tapped on his lute, singing,

_Your voice it carries over_

_The hubbub and the hum_

_And it paints the sky and circles high_

_Like the beating of a drum_

_You will scream ‘I won’t forget you’_

_But I’ll cover my cold ears_

_It cannot be a lie_

_If no-one hears._

Soon, his musical ears detected another voice, fade and soft but nonetheless beautiful.

_Cos although you say good day to me_

_I know I don’t belong_

_And although you hold my hand and say_

_‘I love you’, you are wrong._

_Because love does not exist here_

_In this garden there’s no feeling_

_And you say the words so often_

_That I barely know the meaning_

_And when all the flowers are rotten_

_And all the cannons shot_

_I’ll scream, but you won’t hear_

_‘Forget me not’_

Couples clung onto one another, as the fair voice got more recognizable. Jaskier though couldn’t spot the one who sang with him, looking between the crowds, who now cried in silence.

_And in years to come you’ll wander_

_To the place up on our hill_

_And then you’ll cry to our painted sky_

_‘I loved her then, I love her still’._

Now people sang together, and as they did, Jaskier couldn’t help but to stand up and look more intently between them. Everybody sang and it was difficult to find the voice. He slightly felt ashamed of his untimely affectionate towards the unknown singer but he comforted himself by saying that he just wanted to know who the heavenly voice belonged to.

_And you’ll strew some sage and lilies ,_

_And roses where I rot_

_Of all the flowers you picked,_

_I knew you would forget_

_Forget-me-nots._

“The ferry is here!”

With the exclamation, the applauding crowd scattered, hurriedly gathering their things to finally leave the northern war-wrecked lands behind, for some time or for good, no one truly knew.

Jaskier hang the strap of his lute across his shoulder, following them, wondering about the angelic voice, all the more still looking behind his shoulder, thinking of Geralt and the child he destined to be with, praying although he did not believe in any god at all, praying nonetheless for the fate to be kind to them all. 


	2. Chapter 2

_What was war?_

Jaskier walked through Brugge streets. It was a small town across the Yaruga river, only a few miles away from Vizima. They all knew even a river as vast as Yaruga could only hold so much. It was fall, only three months left for the cold winter days, when the river would freeze, making a solid ground for the Nilfgaardian army to march forth and conquer Temeria and Redenia next. 

_What was war?_

He tried not to stare at the peasants begging for food and for a place to spend the night in. But to no avail. War wasn’t poetic, yet his mind wouldn’t stop composing, his hands wouldn’t stop writing. Bard or not, he was a scholar as well and if destiny was to drag his arse back to Oxenfurt like this then he would write to at least have something of those horrifying days, may it not be in rhythm then in prose. This was to be history, this was to show the real face of war.

_Poverty. Famine. Sickness and death._

_What was war?_

Jaskier pondered.

_It was a three-lettered word that could obliterate everything. Tearing lands, nations and race apart. Victims were constantly drowned in tidal waves of guilt, regret and pain. And pain wasn’t simple. It wasn’t only physical. Physical wounds could heal, emotional, and mental once however, stayed. For days, weeks, months, years… or perhaps forever._

He wasn’t feeling particularly fine walking down those streets. His clothes were dirty and unwashed for days, they smelled of sweat and smoke. His head felt heavy, and he was terribly dizzy probably because of the empty stomach and lack of proper sleep. The last he had an almost decent stew was the day before yesterday. In sum, he felt like shit, he probably looked the part as well, might as well find a place to stay in before his legs give out and he finds himself sprawling in the mud once again. 

At midday instead of the usual hustle and bustle he expected from the town, Jaskier noticed the eerie silence. Not a chicken clucked or scratched at the dusty earth, nor were any goats bleating nearby. No women were cooking outside their homes, nor could a sign of a crooking fire be seen.

Children, instead of playing, shouting, singing or laughing lay lifelessly on their mothers’ laps or alone, leaning against the cold walls. Hollow cheeks and thin arms. _Panting._ _Vomiting._ Sleeping. _Seemingly sleeping._ Something was in the air. The chickens and frisky goats were gone, either eaten, stolen or sold months before. There was no food to be cooked. The children were too weak to be playing or singing.

Jaskier's stomach churned at the sight. He could tell, from the coughs, from the constant scratches of their skins, from the rashes on their faces and necks, arms and legs. Something far worse than war itself had haunted this town. 

The sun was too warm for fall, too direct and he sweated profoundly as he staggered in the shades next to a man, who wearing a large hat was busy weaving a basket.

“My good sir," he panted, his voice a higher pitch than usual, " is there an inn nearby?”

The man looked incredulously at him, not answering for a while as he looked him up and down, then he frowned “You was one of the lots on that ferry, eh?” Jaskier’s throat was too dry to answer, he just nodded in response and the man shouted, “Escaping the war you whoresons! As if we’re not fighting off a disease, dying of hunger here!”

A fit of violent coughing accompanied the man’s shouts and Jaskier marked the rashes on his skin, taking a step back, wandering off. "Thank you for your humble welcoming, really appreciated the gesture," he uttered sarcastically. Getting sick now was cherry on top of all his problems. He was as miserable as it was. Deciding to find a place on his own, Jaskier started walking, keeping a good distance from every passenger, pulling the hem of his shirt up to cover his mouth and nose as he stumbled upon a building which the sign <Blossoms> suggested it was definitely an inn. 

“Hello, ma’am." He said as he walked in, his usual giddy tone long gone, he was too tired, practically dragging his feet to the counter where not-so-much friendly-looking middle-aged woman stared at him, " Help your compatriot here. We have been across the river not a few days ago, Cintra and Sodden have fallen. And I know that I might look like a beggar who does not have any coin on them but I can assure you that I am a very well-respected bard and I can sing—“

“A bard, eh?" The woman interrupted him, placing her hands on her hips. " We had one here recently. Claimed the same, wasn’t much of a help either.”

His head was swirling, “Another bard, you said?”

“Yes, you don’t see many of them in this town, she was traveling from Vizima, said she was headed to Cintra to visit a friend. Got sick right after she arrived, fell on the floor during a performance. It was a shame really.”

“She?" Jaskier racked his brain. " A female bard from Vizima.”

“You look like horse shit yourself—“

“Well…" He looked up then, managing to offer a crooked smile at the barwoman. " Ah, not exactly the expression ladies use when they describe me but yeah…apparently not eating a hot meal for days and not bathing tend to leave their marks on you. Besides the war's spreading fast.”

“Not very inspiring for your ballads, I gather." The woman spat on the counter and then moved to clean the spot with a piece of fabric." Now the disease is faster if I hadn’t had kept the inn clean of pests… “ She looked at Jaskier as if he was indeed a pest, “ Me and me family would have gotten it faster. And what if the war took over Cintra? the fuckers. No one cares about that stuck-up bitch on the throne. Better than alive if you ask me. “

Jaskier's brow furrowed. It seemed no one was willing to help him here. His thoughts diverted back to the bard the woman was talking about. She sounded awfully familiar, still, Jaskier just had to make sure. “Change of the subject please, at least tell me about the she-bard, what happened to her? where is she now?”

“The healer took her. Dead for all I care. Didn’t even pay up her debt.”

 _Shit._ “You... happened to ask what her name was?”

“Eye something…”

“Wasn’t it … perhaps…" He felt as if his heard skipped a beat. His head now clearly spinning. He already knew who it was and he wished he didn't " Oh by gods, I hope I’m wrong but didn’t she introduce herself as Little-Eye.”

“Aye, that’s her name alright.”

“It can’t be." He turned, outside the inn it was too bright and the dizziness had gotten too strong. " By gods… what was Essi doing here? Uh…is there a way to find this healer you speak of?” He asked the woman.

“The old black house on the hill, you won’t miss it.”

He wasn't sure how and with the help of what magic running through his veins, he bolted out, breathing heavily and sweating, walking up the street to the north, looking for a black house. Looking for Essi. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah okay for those who haven't read the books. Essi "Little-eye" is not an original character, in the book, she's also a bard and she's Jaskier's best friend. 
> 
> Also in the book, Jaskier is writing this book of events, mostly related to the witcher, called half a century of poetry and so I thought perhaps he needs to record these awful days of the war as well.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter for you ...  
> because why the fuck not! 
> 
> I'm in the mood, I may not be tomorrow though

“ Jaskier?” She hummed, her voice similar to a spring breeze weaving across a field of verbena. 

“Yes?” 

“Have you ever…uh…" She pondered, tugging at her bright blond hair, azure blue eyes glassy with the wine and something more, something Jaskier with all his knowingness couldn't really tell. Was if for the alcohol in his system or his care-freeness against everything serious in life, he couldn't tell. " Never mind it’s just… it’s silly.” she bit her bottom lip embarrassingly. Cheeks already a shade of pink as she shook her gold like locks. 

“Aah nothing is ever silly with you Essi, come on now, tell me what’s in that pretty little head of yours?” he nabbed at her head with his finger, laughing wholeheartedly. Geralt was nowhere to be found. He'd come with them to the inn but left early to see how Roach was doing or something like that, Jaskier couldn't care less, he couldn't remember when was the last he had gotten drunk like this with an old friend like Essi. 

“Alright alright, have you ever loved somebody… I mean oh… of course you have, that is just a stupid question… let me put it this way my dear friend…”

“Go on”

“Have you ever loved somebody… you couldn’t really have?”

“Hmm” Jaskier lifted a finger to his chin, thinking or at the very least pretending to be thinking.

“Oh leave it," She interrupted," of course you, master poet, could have anybody and you do.”

“Well not really, it’s not always easy.”

“Is it not easy before or after you bed with them?” giggling, she took another sip from her drink.

“Haha it’s mostly after doll but I have you know there are people out there, out of reach even to me…" She lifted a brow, staring hazily at the older bard," for example lady Anna Henrietta had been hard to convince to cheat on her dear husband, apparently, the duchess was smitten with the old man.”

“Oh my gosh you’re gross Jaskier!" Essi pushed the man playfully," What happened after? Did you succeed?”

“What do you think?” Jaskier proclaimed proudly, lifting his glass. 

“Didn’t the husband threatened to rip your heart out after he found out?”

“How do you…" Suddenly feeling sweat on his temples form from dread, he shook his hand uncaringly, let this night not be ruined by awful memories." never mind.”

“I suppose it will be a while for you to show up your face anywhere near Toussiant, then.” Said Essi still laughing. 

“Yeah… right… but something tells me you weren’t entirely interested in my love life doll.”

“Argh enough with the doll already, I told you I don't like it.”

“What can I do? I like annoying you.”

“Then I won’t tell you.”

“No need to tell me what I already know. “

“Well, I suppose Geralt… he... he already told you.”

“The big ol’ grumpy wolf?" Jaskier scoffed, " No, you’re out of your mind. Besides I’m not an idiot.”

“Oh yes, cause teaching at Oxenfurt can automatically categorize you on the list of smart men of Redenia.”

“Come on, humor me Essi.”

“I am doing so my noble Julian.”

“Not like this, I want to hear it from you.”

The air suddenly shifted around her. Her grin soon turned into a sad smile, as she stared at the liquid in her glass. “I’m don't gossip.”

“It’s not gossip if it’s about Geralt of Rivia.”

“Oh says the bard whose most ballads always centers around a certain Witcher.”

“You love him, do you not? And don’t try to lie to me, I can tell.”

“You’re drunk Julian.”

Jaskier shrugged, “Well maybe a little bit, you are as well.”

“Do you not love him? the white wolf? even you can not deny that.”

“With an entirely different purpose of course," Jaskier considered for a second, " I love him because of the fame and fortune he brings to me.”

“Come on!" Essi laughed again and by gods how it pleased him to make her laugh like that "You haven’t sunken that low.” 

“Right…right… but enough about me, what about you? “

“What about me?”

“You told him?”

“He doesn’t want me, only that witch… Yennefer of Vengerberg." She narrowed her eyes, looking away before pulling her face closer to Jaskier as if whispering," Tell me about her, how terrifying is she?”

“Oh very," Jaskier moved his hands exaggeratedly, " you know she once told me that she did it with a man the year the plow was invented, can you believe that?”

“No way. How old is she again?”

“Old”

The sound of her laughter echoed in his head. It was four years ago. Felt like a lifetime ago.

They met at a wedding party he wasn’t willing to participate in. They bonded, and she met Geralt. She fell in love at first sight as you hear in old romantic stories. She never got a chance with Geralt though. The Witcher was completely under the spell of the sorceress. They parted then, sang a sung near the fire camp, gazing at the glistening flames, the night was silent as they sang and laugh and danced and Geralt was there, grumbling and growling but smiling. 

For some reason, Jaskier could not recall the words of the balled they so skillfully played. 

His chest tightened. It hurt badly and his throat tasted like blood. He could hardly breathe, shaking all over. He wasn’t hot anymore, he was cold as he staggered towards the hill. The sun was already setting, there she was, Essi or he hoped, oh he hoped so badly that it wasn’t her. That it was all big misunderstanding because if it was her and she was sick with whatever plaque that had haunted this town if she was there and he was too late, he couldn’t forgive himself. He couldn’t forgive himself for leaving her on her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bit about Yennefer doing it with a man the year plow was invented is from the books, goddamn always cracks me up cause Jaskier/Dandelion is such a little shit.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is entirely inspired by the books and a little bit of the TV show because of the drama it added to the story.  
> I love drama.  
> I love angst.  
> Even though I don't know how to write. 
> 
> Perhaps tell me what you think? 
> 
> Thanks

_Essi Daven_ lay there in her bright yellow nightgown.

It was her and it wasn’t; the golden locks and fragile small body, so familiar yet so strange. Jaskier wanted to believe oh so very badly that the fading figure, lying sick and covered in fluid-filled bumps was not the honorable Little-Eye whose blue eyes shone like stars. The bright-eyed kid who followed him around the Oxenfurt Academy, learning his ballads by heart, showing him her own poems, asking for advice, wanting to learn more, wanting to become a bard.

A woman bard.

The concept was absurd to many but not to him. If that was what she wanted then why not follow her dreams. Traveling from town to town, tavern to tavern, spreading stories both in prose and poetry, dancing, singing, playing. It was indeed a dangerous journey for a woman. The roads were mostly unsafe, full of monsters and bandits and gods know what else but she was willing to give it a chance and she gave it all she had. Broad smile painting her pink lips, a golden circle adorning her left eye as she used to puff on it, singing more beautiful than Jaskier ever cared to admit aloud.

Now she was laying there, the faint scent of verbena long gone, only death and sickness hang upon her. Hot with fever, not even aware of her surroundings, not knowing of his presence there, as a friend, as an older brother.

Was he too late now?

* * *

_“What do you do with a broken heart, Julian?”_

His chest burned and his legs seemed to be moving faster than they were meant to, climbing the hill towards the lone house. Black and ominous it stood on the hill at the edge of the forest with strange shadows lurking at its every corner. The windows oversized, dark and dusty, divided into many parts like the compound eyes of a giant fly. It looked abandoned and perhaps it was if it wasn’t for the faint light radiating from the second floor.

At the door he tried to calm his breathing only for his chest to wheeze accompanying with rough coughs as he bent over and brought up his sweaty fist, banging on the door.

“Please open the door!”

Unwanted memories of the last time they met lashed out to him as he squeezed his eyes shut. Something inside his chest ached for the second time that week, more emotional than physical, something he had never felt in his life before aside perhaps on the mountain where after decades of being a loyal friend, he was tossed oh so violently aside.

How many friends he ought to lose? 

* * *

Essi puffed on the golden circle around her eye, her eyes glistening and clouded with alcohol or perhaps something more. She was absorbed by the glow of the fire that was going out slowly, all the while touching, no… caressing the azure pearl presented to her by her best friend, Jaskier and the Witcher she shamelessly fell in love with.

A small smile creeping on her lips as Jaskier noticed, because he always did, looking at Geralt, he was the only one who could always see and no matter how much this irritated the white wolf because Witchers were incapable of emotions and Jaskier was imagining things when he brought them up and Geralt most of the time shut him up.

But it was the truth. He noticed the way the Witcher looked at Essi, with regret in his seemingly soulless eyes, with frustration and need and Jaskier was already composing a ballad in his head as Essi’s delicate voice as if lifted by the cold breeze, rolled over the hills in melancholy waves.

“I’ve always wondered, do people die of a broken heart?” Looking at Geralt sadly. The witcher closed his eyes and Jaskier knew how he felt just by looking at him as the girl with golden locks and eyes that shone like stars picked up her lute, started a few measures that gingerly transformed them into a quiet melody, words slowly finding their ways along the soft music, in humming tune at first and then clearer and more powerful.

_Wait in the dark_

_With the memories that replay_

_My lonesome fears_

_And my mind is betrayed by time_

_Passing by_

_And I just need to wake up_

_I'm gonna need you to save us_

_And take me home_

For some odd reason, Jaskier couldn’t remember the rest of the song, only the strong emotion it carried and it was indeed odd since he would have never forgotten a balled this painful.

The door opened and an angry old man emerged from the house. He had a fringe of grey-white hair around his balding, mottled scaled, a wizened face and although tall and slim his back was slightly hunched.

“What do you want?”

“My friend… Essi…” He panted, leaning his hand against the doorframe, he asked,” she’s here, isn’t she?”

“I don’t know anyone by that name.” The man frowned, pushing Jaskier away in an attempt to shut the door,” Go away!”

“No wait please master healer, if she’s here then… I need to see her, see if she’s alright.”

“Are you blind as well as deaf boy? Alright, you say…” The man scoffed loudly.”Do you see anything right with this whole town? People are dying. “

“I… I noticed that I just want to see my… “

“Told you already,” He interrupted, holding the door ajar still not letting Jaskier to even peek inside,” I don’t know anyone by that name, go away now. “

“The innkeeper said she was ill that she dropped unconscious and you were the only one who dared to get close to her and take her to your home, she said you’re a healer,” His voice cracked as he pushed the door this time with all the might he had so the old man had to take a step back,” just why would you not let me inside?!”

“You come inside you’ll get infected! Are you out of your gourd?”

“ Oh by gods,” He pushed door backward firmly, with tears in his eyes he pleaded,” please I just want to see her, she’s my friend… my friend.”

“Ah stop whimpering and get inside, “The old man finally gave up, opening the door fully now as he held a piece of fabric in front of him, he said, “ Hold this in front of your mouth and nose, it’s smallpox for gods’ sake.” Jaskier eyed the dirty cloth suspiciously, this definitely didn’t look much sanitary either but if he had to it then, he would.

The house smelled of the smoke of countless fires, strange foods and dressed deerskins and of the dried herbs hung from the roof beams and around the walls. The poet wasn’t sure if the old man was truly a healer. Honestly, he was too worried and too exhausted to even care. But if Essi was truly here and the old man was helping her then Jaskier was grateful, especially since he knew how people usually treated sick travelers and those without enough money.

“They pushed me to the edge of the town, whoresons.” The old man explained, shaking his head as he climbed the stairs, Jaskier right at his foot. “Called me names, a witch, a charlatan. Yes, true the last healer with a medical degree from Oxenfurt left a few months ago but even she would come here from time to time to borrow herbs, I have the best herbs around ‘ere. “

The sonneteer did not reply, instead, he focused on his breathing, ignoring the foul smell of the fabric. His mind swirling elsewhere, even though it was almost obvious now Essi was here, he still prayed in his heart that it was all some sort of a misunderstanding and his Essi is healthy and safe somewhere else, perhaps in Oxenfurt or even further in Novigard. The old man talked and talked and he wasn’t really listening, perhaps he ought to listen but he just couldn’t concentrate on the words because he was thinking about Essi and Geralt, he was thinking about their goodbye kiss on the bridge, he was thinking about the things he said to Geralt on that god awful barn that night.

“What does Yennefer have that Essi doesn’t ?”

"Drop it Jaskier!" Geralt growled and turned on his side, his back facing him. 

And to think that if Geralt had gone with Essi, if he had stopped chasing after that sorceress for once in his life, Jaskier would still have them both. And it was a selfish thing to think about right now but it was the truth and of course, it hurt but he couldn’t—

 _The humming._ He could hear it clearly, not in a dream anymore, wide eyes he saw how the old man turned to look over his shoulder and he had a sad smile plastered on those wrinkly lips. “Oh, she’s humming again, that poor girl.”

And then words started to come back again. 

_Feel the madness taking over_

_While you lay in frozen sleep_

_Though my life's now fading_

_You're still a promise I will keep_

_"Doll, you will forget and forgive and you’ll move on, find somebody better.”_

Why now? Why after pushing him away for the last time, wishing for his disappearance, perhaps even death on that mountain, Jaskier had to stumble upon the woman-bard who he loved as much as his non-existence sister whose pain matched of his own. 

Little-Eye lay there, humming unconsciously, humming in her sleep. Her delicate fingers wrapped tightly around something, an azure pearl, holding it as if her life depended on it. Her lute leaned against the small bed frame and she hummed wordlessly, a sorrowful tone, that made Jaskier kneel down by her bed, ignoring the man’s warning holding her free hand, stroking her hair and crying like a little boy, as though it was his heart and his body that had been broken.

_Wait in the dark_

  
_Every feeling becomes so magnified_

  
_And my mind_

  
_Goes on and on_

  
_I'm trying to hold on_

  
_But I keep losing control of all I know_

  
_Though my life's now fading_

  
_You're still a promise I will keep_

  
_You'll always be_

  
_My Sword_

  
_My Shield_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is called "Frozen Sleep" by Mallukah 
> 
> PS. it's probably a cover.


	5. Chapter 5

The pain that once burned like fire had faded away to an icy numbness now. Black filled the edges of his vision and the only thing he could hear was the sound of his faint heartbeat. His breath came in ragged, shallow gasps.

Seconds passed as Jaskier lay there, he inhaled a trembling breath, sweat accumulating on his skin: icy cold. The poet never imagined death to be this filthy. If it were any other time, he would have gagged in disgust at the pool of blood, drool, snot and gods know what else beneath him and at the glassy eyes of the monster lying dead- for sure, facing him. His stomach would have turned in on itself too, weren’t his gut and intestine splattered against the dark damp soil. It was pure pain at first, tearing away at his body, leaving him but a rendered flab of dying cell.

Good thing he stabbed the thing in the brain, he didn’t know if he could watch it eating him alive.

Death of course, was nowhere as beautiful or merciful as he had dreamed of it being. He couldn’t even compose a balled for this; no one would have liked to hear a song with such a tragic, anticlimactic ending. A bard sets off for a quest to save his friend’s life but ends up gutless, literally he might add. Midnight air wasn’t as cooling and pleasant as he thought so either. It wrapped around his throat, freezing his body much like his mind.

He tried to move, tried to even shout for help but his throat was tight, nothing but a low whimper escaped. He stared at the stars, thinking of nobody for once, not even thinking of all he could be if he had listened to his father and glued to his title as Vicount de Lettonhove.

Heh, such a pitiful fate after all. Not at all befitting. Or maybe it was. 

Then what?

Then-

That was it.

This was the end, eh?

* * *

“Is she going to ever get well again?”

Woven around her neck and in her hair dried leaves and flowers of all kinds. Her face was sunken and haunted by a thousand small bumps. Even under a light cotton sheet, she was radiating heat like a brick right out of the oven. Jaskier watched her all day, she wasn’t conscious enough to eat anything, the old healer who introduced himself as Filip feed her some brews and hot teas though and later in the afternoon he cooked some stew she could eat so little. She was weak and as much as Jaskier felt hungry and particularly unwell himself he refused to eat or rest at her presence.

He felt it as betrayal, cheating death like that. That he was the one who traveled through all possibilities and impossibilities alike, across the whole continent with Geralt, surviving every danger from each corner, dodging death right and left caused by troubles that he often had stirred for himself, escaping from a war who was bigger than any in the past, running away and he was still well and alive.

He didn’t think that he deserved to eat and sleep soundly, walk even and… play the lute and sing when Essi was obviously suffering like that. It wasn’t fair. None of it. He wondered if he cared more about Essi or himself at that moment. Just like when Geralt after decades of friendship pushed him away for his imbecility, he wasn’t sure if he felt sorry for himself more or for the only friend he had ever cared about more for once in his thirty-something years of life or for the relationship that existed one moment between them and suddenly wasn’t there anymore. He felt the same way about Essi as well, perhaps that was why he deprived himself of everything slightly pleasurable so much as touching his own lute like the instrument burned his fingers if he strummed those strings.

Soon though, Jaskier realized that he feared loneliness more than death itself and perhaps that explained the reason for his numerous comradeships with lovers and friends of both sexes around the continent. He felt tinges of shame at the thought, here lay Essi, her breath short and in quick gasps as he thought about himself, selfish, pathetic and all-around cynical.

Perhaps it wasn’t wise after all for the poet to be quiet and left alone with his thoughts.

Filip the non-healer looked up from the pot he was currently stirring, a shadow of disappointment and something more clouding his eyes. “That’s the matter of … time.”

Jaskier didn’t glance at the old man, his eyes not leaving Essi's form, brow furrowed, deep in thought.“She doesn’t look she’s healing…” he muttered more to himself than the non-healer,”Fading… going farther and farther away, out of reach.” He grasped at his hair, frustrated. “ I…I wish I could do something for her.”

Silence hanged over them once again. The only sound came from Essi's wheezing chest and the gurgling pot of boiling water. Jaskier wished a more reliable doctor was here, they would have known what to do to cure a deadly disease like that, they would have known something more than brewing teas and stirring pots of soups but he guessed even that was far beyond his knowledge in medicine area. For one very horrifying and scary moment he even wished Yennefer was there, or any mage really even though she was the strongest sorceress he had ever encountered, she would have known what to do perhaps could have helped his friend with some magical remedy.

Unfortunately his hopes and wishes had a habit of never coming true.

“There is something you can do.”

Jaskier perked up at Filip’s voice. Blinking away the new-born tears he looked at the old man expectedly. “There is?”

“Aye,” The man nodded, finally leaving the pot to boil on its own, he came over and took a sit in front of the troubadour. “It’s just the question of how far you are willing to go to save a friend.” 

“I’d do anything.” He answered abruptly, not thinking twice about it.

“That I can see, do you sacrifice your life for them?”

Sacrifice was a special word in Jaskier's connotation. Bizzare even outside the poem context. He made sure not to use it often though. In his book, It would be a crime in the art to destroy something as delicate as that in everyday conversation. To sacrifice means to surrender something prized or desirable for the sake of something higher. What was higher than Essi's life now?

“If that saves Essi then yes.” He finally responded firmly.

“In the Laka meadow just a mile away from the forest grows a rare plant," Filip explained. " _Athelas._ Legend has it that it has magnificent healing powers. I have yet to see it with my own eyes but now that you’re willing to take a chance then, here’s my proposition. Find the plant and bring it to her, you might save her life.”

He definitely did not expect that. Why didn't the non-healer said to sooner? Jaskier quirked an eyebrow, “Do not get me wrong, as a poet I am all for metaphor and proverbially, but right now I don’t think I’ll have the mind nor the energy to think of a sonnet for all your obscureness, master Filip.” Uttered Jaskier suspiciously, narrowing his eyes. “ Where is the sacrifice in that quest?”

“There is a guardian,” Filip pointed blandly. “A monster precisely.”

The word seemed to catch the poet by surprise. “A monster?” he gulped.

“Aye, and it had never allowed a single soul on its dark meadow to take away its lover, Athelas.” Filip drawled, " To take Athelas you need to defeat the monster."

The story would have been poetic if it weren’t for the fact that Jaskier was at the receiving end of and not Geralt. If the Witcher was around, Jaskier would have insisted him to take on the task as soon as possible but now… what was he supposed to do with a beast which was a guardian in a supposed haunted meadow? He was a lover, not a fighter.

He let out a shuddered breath, conflicted as he glanced away. He couldn’t take on a monster, not even in his wildest dream. What was he supposed to do? This was truly a hard decision. He didn’t want Essi to die, he wasn’t even sure the plant legend was real either but then again if the legend was just a legend then there was no monster and what was the harm then? If anything it would have been just a total waste of time.

But then his eyes fell on Essi’s fragile form again. She didn’t look peaceful at all. Her brow creased and her breaths shallow, she was suffering and he had the chance to cease that. She would have done the same, he knew that. Essi had a kind heart like that. And she was brave whereas he wasn’t. The very thought of the monster had his whole body shaking, he was just a bard for gods’ sake still…

“I always say, “He held his chin high with fake confidence masking his troubled stormy soul, "In my book, friendship is all that matters.” Offering a crooked smile, he said. “I will bring Athelas to her." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm forming a plot, guys and it is THICKENING! :D
> 
> Hope Jaskier is not too OOC yet I'm mixing up his book personality with the show personality and eh... I guess he can be brave at times as well.
> 
> Also, I borrowed Athelas from TLOTR. 
> 
> Tell me what you think.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know Witcher's monsters cause I haven't played the game.   
> I just Wikipedia stuff so, sorry for the possible inconsistencies

“ _Once the lovely devil_

_Lay a trap in the revel_

_Where a crossroad once existed_

_She kept dealing with the needed,_ ”

Jaskier cursed under his breath, pushing away another branch as he walked amongst the tall pine trees. ”Fuck… this is shit. “ Sun was already setting and so was Jaskier’s mood as he felt the undergrowth clawing at his legs, more branches whipping against his face and chest as he tried to carefully pass the forest for the Laka meadow.

It still seemed to him like a wild dream, more like a nightmare really, how he unknowingly and in total ignorance decided to travel a short journey to a presumably haunted place where he could or could not find a magical plant that could save not only his friend’s life but possibly the entire town, the whole continent if he dared to say.

Wait a moment though, _when did the bard start to play the hero ?_

“Yeah… right… this is great, truly marvelous I must say, me … a bard with a… a knife instead of my lute setting off to hunt a beast, what next huh? Getting eaten by the damn thing?” He rambled nervously,” Shit… shit… shit… come on Jask get it together now. You’re doing this for Essi, she doesn’t deserve the pain, and she shouldn’t die, not like this. “He let out a shuddered breath, careful this time not to be too loud or too dramatic like usual. Before, he had the Witcher, he was certain nothing would happen to him as long as the white wolf was around, now though? He’d be lucky not to get ripped apart before he reached the meadow.

Then again he couldn’t just not talk. The sound of his rapid and shallow breathing made him even more anxious and the last thing he needed right now was to mess the whole thing up again. Only that this time it wasn’t only his life on the line but someone else’s as well. And he couldn’t afford that, it was too late to turn back to the direction of the town. Besides, he had promised Essi, for gods’ sake he could not break a promise like that. Coward, yes he was, plenty if he had a say in it but disloyal, never.

Filip had instructed him how to find Athelas, he gave a thorough description as he put the hunting life in a sheath and handed it to Jaskier. Now he just needed to walk south along the edge of the forest until he found the path Filip had described. He did not anticipate entering the meadow in the dark though that was why he left the cottage before the dawn, however, and by the looks of it, fate wasn’t on his side.

He walked quickly anyway, weaving his way between the trees, taking care not to lose his direction. Fortunately, years of traveling with Geralt although not helpful enough in teaching him how to fight horrendous monsters; it did make him limber and faster than he was. 

“Just think about a good rhyme for the song… or… or even change the first verse, something lighthearted perhaps? would have been easier if I had my notebook with me.” he forced through the heavy brush, hours of walking had his feet given away and he tumbled over rocks and exposed roots, barely keeping his balance. “ Fuck, where is Geralt when you need him?” He was tired and hungry but the very thought of the Witcher somehow managed to make him more agitated. “Yeah, forgot that he wouldn't want an incompetent companion like me! you wanted me gone, Geralt? What was it you said? If destiny could give you one blessing it would be to take me off your hands! Well seems like you finally got what you wanted you selfish unreliable arsehole!” He uttered poisonously into the dusky forest.

Anger though just made everything worse; he shook his head to get his hair out of his eyes when he heard a sharp sound nearby.

Jaskier didn’t move. he didn’t breathe. What _was_ that? for once in his life, he managed to swallow the question and strain his eyes to see through the trees while slowly unsheathing the knife. His ears sought out any unnatural sounds. The sound was fast and had only lasted a second, as if a branch had just fallen from a tree. He then heard the snapping of a twig and sensed he was not alone in the forest. Jaskier could swear he felt movement in the ground, footsteps of something that did not seem human trampling the foliage in the distance. He froze in hope that he would not draw its attention and when he was sure that it was no longer near, he kept on, moving at a brisk pace, holding his tongue not to make a sound no matter how hard his hands and legs were shaking, wishing more than ever that he wasn’t alone inside the forest.

As he quickened his pace, he had to stop several times for fear of something following him. With night slowly engulfing the sky, painting a dark blue color, Jaskier could even less than before, hopefully, the moonlight lite enough of the path for him not to get lost.

A strange voice, however, caused him to jump on the spot. It was either laughter or running water and then… a dry branch, closer than before, snapped and that was the cue for him to run. Not looking back for fear of what he might see, Jaskier dashed along the path.

The air felt suddenly became colder and more humid, hills becoming steeper and their crests getting farther and farther apart as Jaskier miraculously found himself in the middle of a clearing. A field of tall, dark grass that stood like bold and still like black-armored Nilfgaardians, unwelcoming and ready to strike, right in the middle of the forest.

_He couldn’t have gotten lost now._

This did not look anything like the meadow, Filip had spoken of. Jaskier tried to breathe to no avail. His heart raced at tremendous speeds and his lungs shallowly rose and fell in time. He stood there for what felt like an eternity, straining his neck to perhaps see what was hidden beyond the tall grass but there was only darkness. He tried to circle around the field but it was impossible, a glance over his shoulder, he didn’t think that going back was a good idea either.

There was though, only silence. All-natural sounds of the forest gone in this particular side. Jaskier had a good hear for sounds but right now, even wind seemed to have stopped moving. Satisfaction of security was nothing but a distant memory and something very strange and very unreal like an invisible force crushed him from every possible direction. Each second of standing there, just gazing at the inevitable before his eyes, he felt fear leaving a permanent mark on his hear and vivid imagination made him wonder whether it was just his mind playing tricks or… reality.

As if walking into a vat of acid, Jaskier, clutching the hilt of knife tightly, walked along the pathway amidst the long grass and as he entered he heard a rustle behind him. He turned fast, now pointing the tip of the blade at nothing in particular. “What-who-whatever you are… you… you better just… don’t come out for I’m armed… “He started to walk faster, trying not to change directions much but then the gut-wrenching horrible scream echoed in the field and Jaskier just had to start running. Someone… something was clearly now following him but it did no good as the figure of horror jumped before him, menacingly. A wildcat-sized creature that looked like a cross between wildcat and a bear, grinding sharp fangs together and digging sharp claws in the soft soil beneath. Jaskier’s widened as he bit back a scream, slowly lifting the knife in his shaky hand.

“Um… hello… I…I…I didn’t want to bother you or anything, just … looking for a plant, you happen to… maybe know where I can find it?”

The creature growled in response taking a threatening step towards him. Jaskier gulped,

_he wasn’t gonna survive this, was he?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the abrupt end.   
> I promise I update sooner. 
> 
> Thanks for all your comments and Kudos-es


	7. Chapter 7

The creature stared at Jaskier with what looked like a menacing grin on its distorted face. The troubadour tried to stay as calm as possible, backing away slowly while holding up his hands, both in defiance and-if push comes to shove- possible attack. He never told Filip, Jaskier remembered Geralt scoffing and almost laughing at him when he said he had never used any weapon not so much as a knife in his whole life. He wasn’t a cut-throat, why would he need to know how to use it and how hard could it be anyway? Looking at the monster before him now, it proved to him, _plenty._

Jaskier could still make out the glow of the creature’s skin in the dark night as he saw the attacker start to move slowly toward him. Talking wouldn’t help then, the creature probably even didn’t understand him, he could try talking elder but didn’t exactly want to irritate the beast even more. He had a natural talent for that and although it often caused him trouble, this time, it could end up very messily and very badly.

The monster however seemed like it was observing him; as it stalked closer, Jaskier stopped moving and so the creature stopped as well. A chill ran down the spine of the young poet as he realized he was being played in some kind of cat-and-mouse game, suddenly the monster wasn’t as dumb as he initially thought, it wasn’t going to let him pass.

He figured his decisions were to run back deep into the woods again, farther from his object and accept that he is indeed a cowardly piece of horseshit or… to take the creature on head-to-head.

The latter sounded more idiotic than heroic but then again… he wasn’t going to let Essi die, he would find a way or he dies trying. _What if the creature was all bark and no bite?_ Jaskier was reluctant to actually test that theory _but what were the odds?_

In the pale moonlight, Jaskier finally realized what the creature was. A _Leshy_. He had never seen one before and the image he had in his head from a Leshy was way too different. At least before Geralt explained to him how Leshies could shapeshift into anything as they natural form was kept hidden most of the time. This one, however, looked like to be in its true form. That, according to the Witcher’s encyclopedia, meant it was even stronger than an average witcher. That also meant he had no chance of fighting it.

The second option scratched, soon was replaced with a new option as Jaskier strained his neck to look over the shoulder of the creature. He was going to run, not necessary back to the forest though.

The Leshy let out a long growl before baring its fangs and taking another step to him. Jaskier backed away instinctively but this time towards the way he had come and slightly to the left. He needed to focus and not let his pounding heart and uneven breathing distract him. Slowly he circled the creature and it mirrored him, the creature howled in frustration, apparently bored of the slow and anticlimactic movements, it picked up its paced and charged at him.

That was the cue for Jaskier to turn, this time deeper into the grass field, and running away.

“Come on Jask,”

His lungs were burning and he could taste iron at the back of his throat. If there was one thing he was good at though, was without a doubt running. He was fast, he could get away and get out of the field. He just needed to focus on breathing and not the throbbing of his knees, he had to get farther away from the creature.

As he continued to run, he could hear the footsteps of the monster behind him as if it was pursuing him slowly to keep in its sights. He tried to quicken his speed to elude it when the creature suddenly landed right in front of him, swatting him on the head to the ground with only one blow.

Jaskier hit the earth with a loud thud and turned on his back to face the monster again as he became disoriented with his ears ringing and head throbbing.

He stopped breathing as the creature leaned closer to him with a sadistic grin on its animalistic face as he grabbed a hold of its next meal. The poet couldn’t believe what he was seeing; the thing’s eyes glowed like a cat’s eyes as it extended a large claw and began ridiculing him cruelly by tracing the long nail across his chest as though deciding where to make an incision. Traveling down his stomach, the claw ripped Jaskier’s doublet and left a white line on his skin. Tasting his own blood and sweating uncontrollably, Jaskier watched the claw come to a halt by his hip before a great length of it disappeared into his kin with a pulp.

Screaming at the unyielding torment, Jaskier then gritted his teeth sharply as the nail resurfaced, adulterated in oozing blood. Drops of ruby tricked onto his face as the creature brought its claw to its strangely altered doggish snout and licked up the rest of the substance avidly with a black tongue.

Unable to stop shaking, Jaskier tried to shuffle away from the monster, clenching his teeth to stop himself from crying out at the insurmountable pain in his side. But with a swift movement, the ghastly creature pinned his leg down with its callous claws, piercing Jaskier’s skin and stapling him to the ground.

Squirming in blinding agony, Jaskier screamed and could do nothing else as he tried adjusting to the new level of pain he was forced to experience. Barely sustaining a squint with one eye, Jaskier looked down just in time to see the beast’s fangs sinking into his side. Roaring in ultimate anguish now, fresh tears formed together in Jaskier’s eyes as he madly clawed the earth. He looked away and then… recognized the knife, still clutching to his sweaty hand.

There seemed to be no ending to his tortured, the strength in his arm was also waning and he was on the verge of passing out as adrenaline finally kicked in and he lifted the knife over his head and without a second thought plunged it deep into the monster’s forehead. Howling in agony, the monster lurched backward but not before stabbing its claws yet deeper into his flesh.

Jaskier screamed. An unending caterwaul of stomach-turning terror. _Pain_. There was a sudden, different kind of pain this time. And then warmth spread down the front of his body. Jaskier looked down and saw blood. His own blood. He tried to scream again, but not even air came out, just something like a wet, wheezing gag.

His eyes turned and stared at the monster toppling over and hitting the ground with a loud crash. He looked at it for a long time. The monster didn’t move. It was over then. He was dead too just like he was dying. He didn’t want to though. Not like this. No one would find him here, Essi would think that he had just left, ran away. Tears rolled down the side of his face. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t even blink as he felt the last of his heartbeat fade away.

* * *

_And you’ll strew some sage and lilies ,_

_And roses where I rot_

_Of all the flowers you picked,_

_I knew you would forget_

_Forget-me-nots._

A small girl in a long pink gown hummed softly as she walked care-freely across the meadow. “Oh, I saw how you fought there,” she knelt beside the body of the young poet, a weaving pale violet flower clutched in her hand, the moon still shone brightly and the cool breeze made her unruly raven locks dance. “Very brave…” She ran a finger through his blood-stained hair. “Should I grant a wish to you now? After all… I am in the mood tonight.” She giggled, “Just don’t forget my name so that you’ll know in whose debt you are.” Then bent over and whispered silently in the troubadour's ear. “Gaunter O'dimm”

* * *

Jaskier’s eyes snapped open as he sat upright. The warmth of the sun rays washing over his head and face. He looked around dizzily.

_Where was he?_

A green meadow stretched over the horizon at its edge of a small forest with tall pine trees.

_Was he dead?_

The agonizing pain of claws turning inside his gut and tearing it apart was still fresh at the back of his head as he looked at his legs and stomach.

He was intact. he thought as he slowly rose on his legs but dark spots appearing at the corners of his vision made him take a moment.

_Definitely not dead._

He looked at his left and instead of the knife this time there was a pack of strange pale violet flowers.

“Athelas?” He whispered, still confused and dazed as he looked around again. There was no monster. _What a crazy nightmare._ But it didn’t feel like a nightmare. Then again if he was sleeping and it was indeed only a horrible dream what the rare plant was doing in his hand? He faintly remembered a delicate feminine voice singing his song, the one he sang to the war-torn people of Cintra, he had heard it there before as well. His head hurt though just thinking about it. There was no time. He could worry about it later when Essi was alright. He started to walk down the path back to the forest.

However, a strange unfamiliar name echoing in his head.

“Gaunter O’dimm.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys thanks a lot for your kudos-es and lovely comments. ( I'm looking at you ImperialDragon)
> 
> I just don't let a major character die that easily plus listen there's thing about Gaunter O'dimm that you probably don't know, or maybe you do because as I said before I haven't played the games and I didn't know this so I had to do a little bit of research but this character really drew my attention, apparently, it's the devil or a god, or even a djinn, no one really knows but it definitely grants wishes but oh boy when you're in its debt, you're in big trouble. The same goes for Jaskier here. 
> 
> So yeah I appreaciate any comments and/or reviews. 
> 
> There's probably one other chapter to Essi and Jaskier story and then we move to another story. 
> 
> Cheers, 
> 
> ~Bella/Ellie


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys if you haven't read "Sword of Destiny" with Essi Daven in it, please do not read this chapter, for there is a massive spoiler ahead. 
> 
> If you don't care about the spoiler and since it's not a very important story in the witcher arc, go ahead,  
> I hope you enjoy

_Dear Essi_

_Words are powerful tools._

_I remember saying that to you the first time I saw you at Oxenfurt University. You were a freshly blossomed verbena with a cheeky smile and a highly un-lady like attitude; at least to the eyes of those conservative professors who wouldn’t stop scorning me more often than not. I was a twenty-year-old recently graduated top of my class, an arrogant ingrate and lecturer, inexperienced and a know-it-all. That was before I decided to leave everything behind and travel across the continent. That was before I meet Geralt. It feels like a hundred years ago now that I’m thinking about it. Yet it’s been only two decades._

_My lectures were mostly filling-less and dull, even put myself to sleep.” Words convey human emotions in the form of literature and valuable poems. With words, a war could be wrought or a peace brokered. A heart healed or torn beyond repair. Inspiration could be sparked or self-esteem shattered and trodden into the ground._

_Words were medicine and weapons; they could unite and divide. You would laugh at me, retorting something both funny and intelligent as you often did, saying how words are not always enough, that was why poor unadulterated music existed because sometimes the only thing a person could do was to just stop talking and… listen._

_I am at a loss for words now._

“Master Filip, Oi, Master Filip!” The walk back to the town wasn’t as long. Jaskier smiled at the hunched old man and lifted the fresh plants. “I brought the Athelas, where is Essi?”

The man didn’t respond for what felt like an eternity, his face hardened and his dark eyes which were shielded by his thick gray eyebrows looked away and when he finally spoke, he talked in riddles, “They’re at the town square, I kept her hidden, waiting for you.”

“They?” Jaskier asked, his smile wiped off his face as he walked closer,” Who’s “they” and… what do you mean by hidden?”

Filip looked away, shaking his head sorrowfully as he took a few steps from the door and let Jaskier run into the house.

_Geralt_

_I shouldn’t write to you._

_It is just too soon to say that I have forgotten about what happened between us. I haven’t. This was supposed to be a scornful letter and I was supposed to let you know how much of an arrogant, selfish bastard you truly are. Do you think pretending that you don’t need anyone is going to get you anywhere? How about denying your emotions? To push a lover away, shove a friend aside and pretend it is all you want in the world, to kill beasts and get paid by rusty coins while what you truly are is a coward. Yes my dear witcher, I finally spoke my mind._

_I know you Geralt, I know how simple-minded and one-dimensional you truly are. There is no complexity in your nature. Your world consists of two colors, two terms. There is evil and there is goodness, black, and white whereas we are living in a universe where all colors are blended. Same goes for emotions and feeling even though you have them and sense them inside of you-stop denying and just admit it- you are struggling._

_I have been there through the worst and the best with you. I watched you grimacing, getting agitated and being engulfed with pure anger when people called you the Butcher of the Blavikan and I was also there when you smiled- hideously I must add- when people sang songs in your praise and called you a hero, their savior._

_You don’t want to be a hero? I get it, don’t be. At least though be what you truly are. Be a human. Unlike what you might be thinking my friend, mutant or not… you are still a human and you can’t run away from the responsibilities it brings. I also know… how badly you also wanted to because I saw how reddened you were in the face the night Essi rejected you entirely._

_Essi Daven._

_Do you remember her? The girl who did not smell of gooseberries and lilac flowers, the girl who did not have the locks the color of the darkest of nights, quite the opposite I must say. The bright young woman with golden hair that resembled the sun who had been cloaked with the sweet smell of verbena since the day she was born, whose heavenly voice echoed in that wedding party we partook four years ago in the city of Bremervoord._

_You begged me to accept the job as the performer since we were short of coins and I did. I wish I never had. I wish Essi would have never met you at least that way I knew her heart would not have been shattered like that. I blame you witcher, unfairly as you blamed me for all your problems in life up on that mountain._

_I blame you for Essi. A normal girl who fell in love so undeserving with a witcher and I don’t know which is worse, being in love with a monster or a man who thinks himself a monster._

_Our Essi is gone, dead, my friend. And I blame you for that._

It was hard to tell if Essi was asleep or… Jaskier didn’t dare to say the word. Never in his life, he had experienced such pain so profound, so harsh, so unreal. _It wasn’t real._

She just looked so peaceful lying there, no longer in pain even though, no longer struggling to live in a worn-out body. Even though her soft silky skin was ruined, she still looked angelic. Jaskier couldn’t cry. He couldn’t even feel. How can her life be over like this?

He felt somebody moving behind him and then a hand reached up to touch his shoulder, “ You did everything you could do son, no one would have gone to that meadow, you went and brought Athelas.” There was a pause as the man spoke again, “We must burn the body.”

_Essi_

_Words can not express the hurt in my heart; I can not believe that you’re not here anymore. Some part of me, still so foolishly believes that you’re in a Northern kingdom, invited to a high-end ceremony, singing and dancing in a golden palace that matches both your talent and beauty. By gods, I can not think of words to say how sorry and how sorrowful I am. I am mourning you, forgive me if it is not deserving, forgive me … but I can’t let you go with silence._

_I will miss you doll._

In the clearing of the forest he stood, Essi’s lute in one hand and the azure pearl in the other, staring solemnly at the flames engulfing a small figure wrapped in white satin, her bedding adorned with every possible kind of flower except for verbena. For winter wasn’t kind to verbena, it had never been.

And then the troubadour sat there for hours watching her lute slowly fading to nothingness, watching the fire swallowing the azure pearl in its angry red flames as he played a mournful tune on his lute, there were no words to be sung, only the sound of sadness filling the air, without effort, like waves that filled holes in beach sand; rushing in and around the silent trees, the forest listened intently.

And as the fire wasn't burning so high anymore, Jaskier pulled out both of the letters he had written to his two friends he had recently lost. He took a long look at them for a moment before getting up and letting the dying flames devour the papers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the end of this part guys, sorry to disappoint, thanks for reading. 
> 
> There will more parts but not within this story anymore. 
> 
> PS. The song Jaskier's playing at the end is titled as " Sad Lute Music ~ The Harlequin's Devotion" I found on youtube whilte writing this.


End file.
